


All These Things That I've Done

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Branding, Execution, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jeremy's wounds are healed, a series of events lead Miles and Bass on the road to developing the Monroe Republic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Things That I've Done

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by bones_2_be

Miles raked a hand through his hair as he swore under his breath. They'd come across another group of people, stranded, alone and unable to defend themselves. Ever since they'd stopped to help Jeremy it had become a bit of a thing for them, and Miles wasn't exactly sure why. Not everyone they came across was getting the shit kicked out of them; in fact, most of them were fine. They were often hungry, sometimes cold and generally clueless, but fine. They needed to learn how to live in this new world, and stopping for every sad face along the way wasn't doing anyone any favors.

"You stopped for me," Jeremy said, moving to walk next to Miles.

Miles glared at him and wished he weren't so damn perceptive. "Don't make me regret it."

Jeremy gently bumped Miles with his shoulder. Miles was glad they'd stopped for Jeremy, but sometimes he just wished Bass would quit taking on more strays. They were practically a caravan, and everyone they picked up was fully dependent on Miles and Bass to protect them. Once Jeremy had healed, he'd been eager to learn how to defend himself, and Miles was more than happy to teach him. It had been the smartest thing he'd done. It was nice to have someone else to fight beside him, one less liability.

"We're going to be taking on five more. Do we have enough supplies for the night?" Miles asked as he looked up, there wasn't much time left before sundown.

Jeremy followed his gaze. "We'll have to; we can't travel at night with all these people."

"I know." Miles looked ahead. Bass was about twenty yards ahead with the group of thirty or so people that had been "caravanning" with them. The area bothered him. It was out in the open with no natural shelter. Setting a watch would be difficult and they didn't exactly have an army of men. The nights were getting colder as they moved further north, and most of their refugees, as Bass fondly called them, didn't have proper winter clothing. They barely had proper non-winter clothing, and he was sure, it was yet another thing he'd be responsible for. Miles left Jeremy and dashed up to the front to find Bass.

"We can't, Bass."

"We're going to, Miles. I can't just leave them here."

"Yes, actually, we can. We need to. We can't afford to stop. I don't like the area, and if we keep going we can make it to a better place to make camp for the night."

"We're stopping."

"I know," Miles said tiredly, "but, I had to try. You're a stubborn bastard."

Bass winked. "You'd know."

Miles grumbled something profane under his breath. "You do the introductions. I'm going to get Jeremy and we're going to set up camp in that clearing on the west side of the road."

Three hours later, the camp was established and guard shifts had been allocated. Either Miles or Jeremy were on each shift, alternating to allow them a few hours of sleep throughout the night. Not all the men were incompetent, but he'd been given the responsibility of nearly forty people and they weren't going to die on his watch. Jeremy and Miles were both standing the early morning watch, experience teaching them that more men fell asleep during that period than any other. Once it had cost them a week's worth of rations. Miles ensured something like that would never happen again.

Miles saw someone approaching, he stood from the rock they'd been sitting on, but sat back down when he realized it was Bass.

"What are you two doing up?"

"We're on watch. Your strays need protecting. I can't do that if I'm asleep," Miles snapped.

Bass' face fell, his eyes cast downwards. Miles mentally kicked himself. He was angry and tired, but he'd known Bass was going to make them stop, and he'd stopped so there was really no point in taking it out on him, but damnit the uneasy feeling he'd had all day hadn't gone away.

"We always take the early morning shift," Jeremy explained, voice soft, soothing. "It keeps things running smoothly."

Miles snorted softly. Finding Jeremy was a godsend. He was always playing peacemaker between them. Most of the time he was able to keep Miles from making a complete ass of himself, but times, like tonight, when he was set on being a dick, there was nothing Jeremy could do to help him.

"You two should go get some sleep. Me and John'll take over the watch," Bass offered, voice hesitant.

Miles wanted to object, wanted to demand Bass go back to bed and leave them to their job, but he couldn't stand to hurt Bass anymore than he already had. He was overreacting. Miles smiled and placed his hand on Bass' shoulder. "Okay."

Bass' face lit up and he looked more than a bit relieved; Miles thought Bass forgave him all too easily, but he wasn't stupid enough to point that out now.

"Come on, Jeremy. We have our orders," Miles said with a smile.

Screams woke Miles from his sleep. He rolled from his cot and dashed out of the tent, gun first. The camp was in utter chaos. Miles rushed to where he'd left Bass on watch and swore his heart stopped beating. Bass' head was slumped forward, his body leaning against the boulder. There was blood on his lip, but the most concerning was the wound on his leg. It was bleeding steadily and Miles just hoped it wasn't an artery. He heard footsteps come up behind him and spun around, poised to shoot.

Jeremy stood there with his hands out, "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"What the hell happened?"

Jeremy shook his head. "I don't know, came out about the same time you did."

Miles nodded. He ripped the bottom of his shirt to use as a tourniquet, and tied it above the wound in Bass' leg. He checked for a pulse, half terrified he wouldn't find one. It was there, but it was weak.

"Stay with him. Anyone who isn't me comes near him, shoot them."

Miles could tell Jeremy wanted to question the order, but to his credit, he only nodded. Miles turned and went back to the main camp. Things had begun to settle down after the initial fear subsided and people started to fight back. One of the men from the watch came up to him, breathing hard and sporting the beginnings of a black eye.

"We've caught a few of them. Most of them ran off once people started defending themselves."

"Raiding party," Miles said to himself, more than anything. "Organized and smart."

Miles rubbed his brow. "Get everyone gathered together. Keep the prisoners guarded and separate from everyone else."

The man nodded and left. Miles ran back to Bass. Jeremy was whispering to him, which Miles took as a good sign, at least he was conscious. He motioned to Jeremy.

"Go make sure the guy from first watch is doing what he's supposed to. Gather all the people together, the prisoners separate. Then, find the guy who was on watch with Bass, his name was John. Bring me a doctor or a nurse or anyone who knows anything about medicine."

"Sure thing, Miles."

Miles went over to Bass, he slid to the ground next to him and cradled Bass close to his body. He couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, he could only hold onto Bass and hope it wouldn't be the last time. While he waited for Jeremy, Miles swore to himself to never ignore his instincts again, no matter how upset it made Bass.

"They're ready," Jeremy said. "This is Walter, he was a surgeon."

Miles carefully moved Bass back to his original position and stood to his feet. He shook Walter's hand and gripped it tighter when he tried to take his hand back. Miles held the man's gaze.

"If he dies, you die."

Walter, eyes wide, nodded. "We need to get him to a better location. One of the tents, with light, and I'll need clean water."

Miles nodded. "Can I move him without making it worse?"

"We don’t have a choice."

Miles reached down and carefully lifted Bass into his arms. Bass moaned, the pain in his voice slicing through Miles like a knife. He cradled Bass' head to his chest and murmured soothing nonsense into Bass' ear, not knowing what else to do. He carried Bass to the tent Walter pointed out to him. As gently as he could, he laid Bass down on the sleeping bag and stepped back to let the surgeon do his job. Miles stood near the tent's door, arms crossed, unable to look away. He didn't know everything the surgeon did, but he knew when he asked Jeremy for some strong liquor that it was going to be painful. He wanted to go over to Bass, hold his hand, take his place, do something. But, he was glued to his spot by the entrance. After what felt like forever, Walter came over to him.

"He's sleeping. The stab was deep and it nearly punctured his artery. The leg's broken, but I've stabilized it. We can't move him for six weeks because I can't put it in a hard cast. He has a couple broken ribs, but there doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding. It'll be a while before he's moving on his own, but he should make a full recovery."

Miles nodded and left the tent. The refugees were still together, huddled in little groups outside what had become the medical tent. Off to the left, the raiders were bound to trees and gagged.

"Jeremy, did you find John?"

"I put him with the raiders. He's tied to one of the trees."

Miles smiled, but it was a cold smile, full of hate, anger and cruel humor. "Good."

"Want them brought over?"

"Just John. Make sure the others can see."

Jeremy nodded. A hush fell over the crowd as John was brought forward. Naturally, rumors ran rampant though the group, they all knew about Bass' injury and how it happened during John's watch.

"What happened?"

John looked up, his eyes were wide, red-rimmed as though he'd been crying. Miles felt his smile tighten as mocking laughter threatened burned the back of his throat.

"I fell asleep. The raiders knew we were the watch because they targeted Bass. He killed two of them before they overpowered him."

"And you? What did you do?"

John looked at his feet. "I ran."

Miles knew that, but he wanted everyone to hear John admit it aloud. It would make what came next easier to explain. Miles pulled his gun and shot John in the head. When his body hit the ground, the group gasped. Miles' eyes shot up. He took in their wide eyes, their fear. It made him sick. They were weak and he wasn't going to keep saving people who couldn't save themselves. Not when they become a liability, not when they were responsible for Bass' injury.

"This man fell asleep on watch then ran while we were under attack. Because of his cowardice, some of you are injured, others are dead. We don't have a complete assessment of missing supplies and food, but I'm sure some of that is gone, too. You joined us because you needed to feel safe, because you needed protection. Protection isn't free. Not anymore. From now on, you'll be responsible for your own defense."

"How? You're the marine. It's your job to protect us," a man called out from somewhere in the group.

Miles rolled his eyes. "I'll train all the men willing to join with us. Those of you who refuse are free to leave and go back to making it on your own. If you stay, you will be trained. If you stay and refuse," Miles paused and looked down at John's dead body, "well, it's just better if you leave now."

Miles turned on his heel and walked back to the medical tent. Bass was awake when he walked in, and had a disapproving look on his face.

"You didn't have to shoot him," Bass whispered, voice weak.

Miles sat down next to him. "Who told you?"

"It doesn’t matter. You didn't have to shoot him."

"Yes I did."

"He fell asleep, he didn't attack me."

"He's lucky I only shot him."

Miles looked down and stroked Bass' forehead. He couldn't go after Ben anymore. Not when they had a group of people they were taking care of, not when Bass was injured and unable to move. He needed to set up something secure, something permanent. They needed a home. Nomads wouldn't live long in this world. The raiders would just keep coming back until they were all dead.

"We're going to stay here for a while," Miles said as he stroked his fingers down Bass' cheek. "Doc said we can't move you."

"I thought you said you didn't like it here."

"I don't, but now we don’t have a choice. I'm going to send Jeremy out with some of the men at first light, have them see what's ahead. Once you're better, we'll find a place to set up. Something permanent."

"What about finding Ben?"

"I'll find him, but you're my family as much as he is. I’m not leaving you."

Bass smiled, "That's my line."

Miles leaned forward and kissed him softly. "It's a good line. Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Bass was a horrible patient and no amount of coddling, threatening or ignoring would change his demeanor. Miles swore the next time Bass was this injured he'd do everyone a favor and shoot them both between the eyes. It had started as six weeks, just as the doctor had told them, but then it moved to eight, then to twelve. This was because by about week four, Bass had decided he could get up and hop around on one foot to do various things that could be done just as easily by someone else. Miles had kept himself occupied by training the men and hunting down the bandits. Anything to keep him from hovering over Bass. It was bad enough he had to post a guard _inside_ the tent to ensure Bass followed the doctor's orders and stayed the fuck in bed. 

He walked through the lines of men, watching them practice a series of moves Jeremy had taught them. Some of them were taking to it naturally, while others still didn't understand their bodies. Tom Neville, who'd shown up with his wife and young son a few weeks ago had impressed Miles more than anyone other than Jeremy. He came with some hand-to-hand skills and he had a burning desire to protect his family, which Miles learned he'd had to do on a couple of occasions, including a home invasion soon after the blackout. If all the men had Neville's motivation and Jeremy's skills, he'd have an unstoppable army, capable of bringing order to chaos.

"We have a lead on the rebels," Jeremy called as he ran up to Miles.

A slow smile split Miles' face, he'd been dreaming of getting his revenge ever since Bass had been hurt. It finally looked as though he'd get his chance, and now he had trained men, many who were itching to try out their new skills.

"Where are they?" Miles asked as he turned to walk back to the command tent.

Jeremy fell in line beside him. "They appear to be making a new base camp at a farm about ten miles northwest of us. The runner gave the indication that the farmer wasn't actively aiding them."

"No, I imagine not," Miles mumbled distractedly. He was looking down at the map. They'd been chasing the raiders all around the area, but they never seemed to venture further than about fifteen miles away from the encampment. Since they'd probably accumulated too much loot to be mobile, they would need a base, somewhere with storage, somewhere with pre-built buildings. The farm would be a perfect location. All that only worked if the bandits intended to stick around, which Miles doubted.

"We need to get there before they can get themselves set up, or before they pack up and leave. Surprise is our best chance," Miles mused aloud.

The raiders had sent smaller parties to attack them over the weeks, but the attacks had become less frequent as more of the raiders were killed. Miles knew whoever was leading the raiders knew they were still in the same location.

"We'd have to move the whole camp, Miles. That could take days, and we'll lose our advantage."

"I know. Bass can't move fast, not yet, and that's if the doctor clears him to move at all."

"What if we went first?"

Miles looked up and met Jeremy's eyes. It was a crazy, fool-headed idea that Miles would come up with for himself, but he didn't expect it to come from Jeremy. He was supposed to be the levelheaded one, at least, more so than Miles.

"You and I, maybe a couple of the better trained men, we could make good time and take them by surprise."

"We'll be outnumbered, and it's a crazy idea. They'll probably kill us."

"Probably, but we'll have the army coming behind us. They might get there in time to give us a bit of help."

"Bass won't like it."

"Since when has that stopped you?"

"Not the point, but you're right. It's our best shot. If we move the whole camp as a whole, we'll lose them," Miles paused, "Go find the doctor. No use making any plans until we know Bass is safe to move."

Jeremy nodded and left. Miles rubbed his brow. A part of him wanted the doctor to tell him Bass couldn't be moved, then he would have a reason to forgo his foolhardy plan. He wanted to catch the raiders, more than he wanted just about anything, but he knew the idea was stupid, fueled by emotion, and not strategy. He could hear Jeremy's voice in his head, _Why start now?_

"You wanted to see me?"

Miles turned to face the doctor. "Yes, is Bass okay to move? We need to move, but I won't until Bass is ready."

The doctor paused. "He can move, but not fast and not walking. He'll have to ride in a carriage or something."

"Shit." Miles didn't look forward to the coming discussion. Bass wasn't going to be happy, about any of it.

"Thanks, doctor. We'll be moving at first light."

Miles looked at Jeremy. "Get everyone ready to move. You and I will go ahead of everyone else with Neville following with the main army. Select someone to move the rest of the camp, but make sure there are men to guard Bass."

Jeremy nodded. "When do we leave?"

"We'll leave an hour or so before sunup."

Miles left Jeremy to take care of the preparations and went to the hospital tent. Bass was laying down, which Miles thought was a small miracle. He dismissed the guards and sent the medics out as well since Bass was the only patient.

"Doctor's cleared you to move."

"Really?" Bass asked, disbelieving.

"Yeah, we're moving out a first light."

"Why?"

Miles sighed, Bass knew him too well. "We found the raiders. They're camped out in a farm about fifteen miles northwest of here. I want to get to them before they decided to pack it up and move on."

"Why move the whole camp then? Why not just send some men to go take care of them?"

Miles shook his head as he sat on the edge of Bass' bed. "No good. There are too many of them. They're smart and organized and they have a leader. Jeremy and I are heading out ahead of the main army. Neville will follow with the main army then everyone else. Hopefully, we'll have the raiders taken care of before everyone gets to the farm."

"You want to set up at the farm."

Miles smiled. "Yeah. It makes sense. It's why the raiders went there. If the farmer is still alive when we get there, maybe he'll be willing to teach us how to farm and other things. We can't just keep wandering and hoping we come across useful stuff. It won't last."

"I don't like you and Jeremy going alone."

"It was his idea."

"Clearly he's spent too much time alone with you and your idiotic ideas."

"I know, but it's our best plan."

"You could just wait until the raiders move on to set us up at the farm."

Miles hands clenched into fists, his eyes hard. "No, Bass. I can't."

Bass reached up and stroked Miles face, Miles closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "I'm fine. The doctor even cleared me to move."

"I'm going, Bass."

"I know."

"You have to ride in the wagon, though. Doctor's orders."

Bass hand dropped back down and he glared at Miles. "Way to bury the headline."

Miles shrugged. "Can't argue with the doctor."

Bass just stared at Miles incredulously. Miles smiled and leaned forward to kiss Bass. It was deep and tender. Bass wrapped his arms around Miles and tried to pull him closer, but Miles wouldn't let him. He kept himself propped up on his forearms, not allowing any of his weight to land on Bass, mindful of his ribs. Miles moved his lips to Bass' neck, nipping gently as he made his way up to Bass' ear.

"Once we're set up at the farm, I'll put Jeremy and Neville in charge of the men so I can lock you in the bedroom all night."

"Promises, promises."

Miles pulled back, a smirk on his face. "Promise."

 

An hour before dawn, Jeremy and Miles left the encampment and made their way to the farm. They walked in silence, nothing left to say. Miles' mind was back at the camp, with Bass. He refused to think that this could be the last time he'd see him. The army was an hour behind them, and while it wasn't quite like calling in the marines, the men had worked hard, and it was the best he had.

When he heard the movement to his right, he could just make out the farm. He opened his mouth to call a warning to Jeremy, but he was knocked to the ground before the words left his mouth. He fell with a grunt and moved to stand to his feet, but a boot in his back impeded him. Turning his head to the right, he saw Jeremy was in the same predicament. This wasn't exactly how he'd seen this happening. Sure, he didn't expect to walk all the way to the farm house, knock on the door and ask the raiders to kindly leave, thank you very much, but he'd expected to meet them from his feet, not his stomach. He grunted as his hands were tied tightly behind his back with coarse rope. It would chafe, no matter how much he tried not to move his wrists, and that would upset Bass, which upset Miles. At least they hadn't shot them both on sight. Somehow, he didn't think that excuse would do him much good when Bass arrived at the farm later.

"Get 'em up. Boss'll wanna see 'em," Miles heard one of the men say.

He exchanged a quick look with Jeremy, his slight head nod letting Miles know he was okay before they were marched to the farm. Miles found it odd that he still had both his M9 and his KA-BAR attached to his belt, not that either of them helped him at the moment, his hands tied behind his back as they were, but it didn't seem smart to let him keep his weapons. They were taken to the farmhouse. The raiders put them inside the closet underneath the stairwell, and secured them to a pipe that ran along the length of the closet.

"Boss isn't back yet. Don't make any trouble."

Miles nodded, his face a façade of seriousness. Jeremy smirked. It was working out fairly well so far, considering the plan was a bad idea from the beginning and hadn't gotten any better during its execution. The longer the boss was a way, the more time the rest of the army had to get to the farm.

Miles guessed it was about forty-five minutes before someone came to get them. He and Jeremy kept quiet, not wanting to speed things along by having one of the raiders get twitchy. Miles didn't struggle when the man came in and untied his hands from the pole only to retie them behind his back, and he was happy that Jeremy was following his lead.

"Boss wants to meet you. He was real happy when I told him we'd caught the leader of the little camping group."

Miles smiled. "Happy to help."

He saw the man's eyes darken, but he just yanked Miles forward more roughly than was strictly necessary. Apparently, the boss had given orders, but why they hadn't been relieved of his weapons still bothered him. It meant their boss had so many men that even if Miles and Jeremy both emptied their magazines he'd still have enough men left to kill them both, or he was just so over-confident that he viewed himself as untouchable. Neither reason made Miles feel any better about the situation.

"Here they are, boss."

"Gentleman," a man in his mid-forties greeted, fake smile on his face, "Welcome. I trust you've been treated well?"

"The foot to the back was a little unpleasant," Miles replied.

"You are trespassing, but that's not important now. Your little group has been causing me all sorts of problems. My men tell me you're the leader of the group. Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"I don't suppose you'd just let us go," Miles said, voice hopeful.

"You've killed too many of my men for that."

"Right, that's what I thought. Well, let's get it over with then."

The man looked at him, head tilted to the side. "That's it? No negotiating?"

"That was the negotiation. You let us go, we don't kill you."

The man threw his head back and laughed. His men joined him, until the sounds of gunfire and fighting could be heard over their raucous laughter. Miles' face softened into what was almost sympathy.

"Every time," Miles began, "Why don't they just listen to me?"

Miles used the confusion to his advantage, and threw his head back, hitting the man behind him in the face before jumping to the side, just missing a swipe at his head. Looking around, Miles saw Jeremy was doing much the same, adding a vicious kick to one of the raiders. The men not on the ground crowded around their leader as the door splintered open, Neville leading a group of six men inside.

"Sir," he greeted. Neville nodded to one of the men who came forward and released Miles and Jeremy.

"Excellent timing, Neville. Kill everyone but the leader. I want him brought outside."

Neville smiled. "Yes, sir."

Miles went outside. His men had secured the area and were already moving the bodies into a large pile. His eyes landed on Bass and he cut a direct path to him. Bass looked both irate and relieved; Miles smiled softly, some things never change.

"Hi," Miles greeted.

"Remind me to kill Jeremy later."

"Why?"

"For indulging your fool ideas. He's supposed to know better. That's why I keep him around, to keep you in line."

"Ah," Miles said as he leaned down to kiss Bass quickly.

"Miles, we found the farmer," Jeremy said.

Miles turned around. "That's very good news. Is he hurt?"

"A few bruises, the doctor's looking him over now."

"That's very good news. When the doctor's done, bring him over to the farm house."

Miles helped Bass from the cart and draped his arm over his shoulder. "If you don’t put most of your weight on me, I'm going to carry you."

Bass mumbled something about not being some damsel in distress, but did as Miles asked. They walked over to the farm house and Miles settled Bass in the rocking chair on the front porch. The normalcy of the moment, of seeing Bass sitting in a rocking chair on a farmhouse porch threw Miles for a moment. It was the most bittersweet thing he'd seen in a while.

"Miles, this is Jack," Jeremy introduced.

"I understand this is your farm," Miles said.

"It is and you've got it back for me."

Miles smiled. "It was my pleasure. I've caught the man who was leading the raiders and I was going to have him executed, unless you object."

Jack's face dropped, but his eyes were steely. "I’m not a violent man, but the raiders killed my wife and locked me in the cellar. Jesus forgives. I'm not Jesus."

"Well said," Bass said. "You can wait inside if you want."

Jack inclined his head. "Thanks, but if it's all the same to you, I'll watch."

"Of course," Bass answered.

Miles walked to where his men were restraining the leader. A sword was strapped to his waist. The hilt was gold and designed like brass knuckles, it appealed to Miles. He took the whole belt off the man and pulled the sword free. He didn't know much about swords, but he liked the way it felt in his hand.

"This is a nice weapon."

Images of Bass, bloody lip, bloody leg, and memories of the long days waiting for Bass to heal, all of it pooled in Miles' mind and with a cry, he threw the blade in a long arch, slicing through the man's neck. It was harder than pulling the trigger, but he liked it better. He pulled the sword free and watched the blood drip from the blade's edge. Miles bent down and wiped the blade clean on the ground before adding the sword to his hip.

Miles turned to Neville. "Have the bodies burned, then set up camp."

When he was back at the farmhouse, Bass and Jack were talking. Bass met his eyes over Jack's head and Miles didn't like the look of almost pity in Bass' eyes, but he ignored it.

"I was just telling Jack about our group of refugees," Bass said, pulling Miles into the conversation. "He's willing to let us stay, set up a permanent camp. He'll even teach the men and women how to farm and raise animals."

Miles smiled at Jack. "Thank you. We appreciate your help."

Jack returned the smile. "You men are doing something good here. I'm happy to be a part of it."

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Miles stared at Bass as though he'd lost his goddamned mind. These were serious border negotiations with the southern militia. Everything they'd been working on for the past few months was about to blow up in their face all because Bass wanted to have the right aesthetic.

"You want all the canvas we have?"

Bass smiled. "Yes."

"What do we get out of this deal?"

Miles laughed. "We quit killing all your men. We'll establish the five-mile neutral zone on either side of the line to keep the peace."

There was a long pause where Miles feared he'd have to resort to more serious measures. Or worse, that they'd refuse. He knew he wouldn't talk Bass out of the canvas, he'd tried to for weeks.

"I'll have the canvas to the Kentucky-Iowa border in a week."

Bass nodded. "We'll have men there to receive the shipment. We'll have the zone established by then as well."

Miles and Bass stood from the table; they shook hands with the Georgia Federation representatives before leaving the building. Jeremy was waiting for them with a small contingent of men and they walked in silence through what would soon become the neutral zone. They left the men at the outpost before the three of them continued on to their temporary headquarters in what used to be Ohio.

"Before we enter into any more border negotiations, Bass, are there any other Martha Stuart items I'm going to have to get for you?"

Jeremy started laughing. They'd all had this conversation before, but Miles had thought Bass was joking. All this talk about uniformity, about aesthetic, about making a show of themselves, it all sounded like bullshit to him, but it made Bass happy. Miles figured it didn't really matter what they looked like so long as they were the ones winning, so he'd quit arguing about it.

"I told you I wanted canvas tents," Bass said as he took off his jacket.

"And I got them for you, but I'd like to know if I need to get you an antique writing desk or a porcelain basin the next time we enter into negotiations."

Miles didn't trust the calculating look in Bass' eyes. "You did promise me. It'll make us look more professional."

"You know we'll look like an Eddie Bauer ad."

"You put my name on it, we have to look good. Now we won't look like a refugee camp."

"He could make you start wearing a top hat and tailcoats," Jeremy suggested.

Bass looked Miles up and down, a teasing smile playing on his lips. Miles shook his head as he crossed the room to pour himself a drink. He took a sip of the scotch, the good stuff from further north, walked up behind Bass and placed his free hand possessively on his hip.

"Don't get any ideas, Marine," Miles whispered.

"I think I'll leave you boys to finish your interior decorating and see you in the morning."

Miles raised his glass to Jeremy. "Night, Jeremy."

            ~          ~          ~          ~          ~

They heard the gunfire seconds before Lieutenant Neville came crashing through the door. "It's an uprising. Fighting's broken out among the men. Something about reunifying America."

Miles rolled his eyes. They didn't get it. The world as they knew it was gone, erased overnight. There was no more USA, there was no more unified anything. He checked his magazine before sliding back it back into his M9. He also strapped on his sword belt and KA-BAR. Cautiously, he made his way outside, skirting the side of the building, not wanting his head blown off before things really got started. From the cover of the building he took in the scene, it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought, but there was already a high body count.

The worst part for Miles was that he couldn't determine who were fighting for the militia and who were fighting for the pipe dream of a reunified USA. Realizing he was wasting time analyzing a helpless situation, Miles put himself into the fray. He poured his frustration into his fighting, allowing himself to kill anyone who attacked him without taking time to think about who he might be killing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped those loyal to the militia were smart enough not to attack him. It didn't take him long to use all fifteen rounds, realizing that meant he'd killed fifteen men. They kept coming.

He had his sword in one hand and his KA-BAR in the other as he continued to fight his way through the chaos. He spotted Jeremy in the distance and made his way towards him.

"I need you to secure the armory. Take whoever you trust with you, but no one gets a gun."

Jeremy nodded, took two men near him and moved off towards the right. Miles hoped that would keep the gunfire from starting up again, since it appeared those who had guns when the skirmish broke out were now out of bullets. Miles felt the burn as a sword cut through his shoulder. He jabbed his KA-BAR into his attacker's thigh and spun around to slice his throat with his sword. Just as he was about to turn back, he ducked down to avoid another wild swing. It gave him a chance to pull his KA-BAR free and throw it at the man closest to him. He sliced three more men open on his way to retrieve his KA-BAR. Miles met Bass' eyes across the field and realized he'd killed twenty men without hesitating. He lost Bass in the sea of violence as he had to move to avoid a vicious swipe at his neck.

After about half an hour the fighting ended. Lieutenant Neville and Jeremy both had restrained men who were alive because they knew something about the uprising. Miles had them secured and guarded while everyone went around cleaning up the devastation. The field hospital had to be expanded into some of the sleeping quarters and those who were fit enough were sent out to cut and gather wood for a giant fire. Resistance fighters wouldn't be buried and since Miles had no way of knowing one from the other, they would all burn. Once all the necessary orders had been given, Miles allowed himself to be moved to the field hospital so someone could sew up his shoulder. That's where Bass found him, a haunted look in his eyes. Miles didn't want to think about what Bass saw in his eyes. Other than some bruises and minor scrapes, Bass looked healthy enough, given the circumstances, and Miles began to breathe a bit easier.

It was well after dusk before things were back to a state of semi-order. Miles, Bass and Jeremy had both had a chance to clean themselves up and put on clean uniforms. Lieutenant Neville was preparing the survivors for their interrogation and execution. Miles wanted answers. His shoulder ached and Bass hadn't said more than was strictly necessary to prove he was still conscious since the fighting broke out and it had him worried. He wanted answers and then he wanted heads. Miles stood to Bass' right, Jeremy to Bass' left as Lieutenant Neville and two of his men brought in the prisoners. They were bloody and weary, but still had fire and determination in their eyes. Miles couldn't help but admire the conviction, he just wished it wasn't for a lost cause.

"You're responsible for the death of 139 people. Brave men who were fighting to protect the people of this area. And for what?" Bass asked.

"We signed up as Americans to be part of the militia. We thought we were all fighting for the same thing," one of the prisoners said.

"There's no such thing as Americans or America anymore," Miles told them. "You're fighting for something that doesn't exist. What was your plan? What's the big plan to reunite the United States?"

"We thought that's what the militia was working towards, gaining strength so we could convince the other areas to unify. We didn't sign up to fight for you," the same prisoner answered with a nod towards Bass.

"No one is fighting for me. We're not doing this to fight anyone. We're here to protect people, to keep them save," Bass answered, voice earnest. "We're fighting for the people."

"We're not alone. You can kill us, but that won't be enough. The rebellion is alive in other areas, it's alive out there."

"You're right," Miles began, voice soft, "We can kill you, and we will, don't worry, and those other rebels will die, too. We'll find them, we'll hunt them down and we'll kill them."

"In the morning," Bass interjected, "We'll kill these men in the morning. In front of everyone. I want them to know that those responsible for so much death have been dealt with."

"That's a huge security breach. We should kill them tonight."

"Enough people have died today, Miles. They'll wait until morning."

"Bass - "

"Miles, not tonight."

Miles grit his teeth. He refused to get into an argument with Bass in front of Neville. He was sure some of the rebel fighters had fled during the battle, at least that's what he would have done. Retreat to gain a better base for a larger attack. Men with conviction did things like that, made decisions that were dangerous. He would know. Miles could read the need for a public execution, for the closure, in Bass' eyes. Miles would give him one night. He nodded to Neville, who quickly moved the prisoners out of the tent.

Miles turned to Jeremy. "I want them under constant watch. At least three men awake and watching them at all times between now and when we kill them. No mistakes, no excuses."

Alone, with nothing official to do, the silence was stifling. Miles watched Bass retreat into himself. His eyes were wide and lost as he wandered around the room aimlessly. Miles didn't know what to say, there really weren't any words. No one saw this coming. He poured a drink and walked over to where Bass had stopped, eyes still unfocused.

"Drink this," Miles ordered as he put the glass in Bass' hand.

Bass nodded absently as he took the glass. He didn't drink, though, just stared into the glass with the same absent look.

"Bass, drink."

Bass glanced at him then looked back at the drink before finally bringing it to his lips. Miles let out the breath he'd been holding, knowing the drink wasn't enough, but it was a start.

"We lost a lot of men, Miles," Bass whispered.

Miles nodded. Bass slid into the chair and swirled the remnants of the whiskey around the base of the glass.

"This can't happen again. We can't just slaughter our own men."

"I know. We'll figure something out. I won't let this happen again. We'll make an example of the rebels tomorrow and squash the rebellion before it becomes an issue. And we'll find a way to identify our men."

"You really think that's going to fix the problem?" Bass stared at Miles. "A show of brutal and absolute force isn't going to be enough this time. These weren't outsiders attacking us. These were our men who were confused about what we were fighting for."

"It's worked so far," Miles retorted, defensive.

"That's when it's been outsiders," Bass stood and ran a hand through his hair. "These were our own men. They need to know what we're fighting for, they need to be fighting with us, not against us or this will just happen again. We can't afford another uprising."

"So what do you want to do, Bass? A slap on the wrist? A sorry about the confusion, better luck next time?"

"Don't be stupid, Miles. You know that's not what I mean. The men don't know what we're fighting for," Bass looked up at Miles. "Do you even know what we're fighting for anymore?"

Miles walked to Bass and put his hands on his shoulders. "We're doing exactly what you told the prisoners we're doing. We're not fighting to fight. We're here to keep the people of the area safe. We're here to keep the people of _your_ area safe, Bass. Now, if we need to remind them men of this, if we need to put it into writing, then that's what we'll do. I told you I'd fix this, and I will."

"Okay. I'm trusting you to fix this."

Miles nodded and kissed Bass gently. "I'm going to check in on the prisoners. You okay?"

Bass nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

Miles rubbed his brow as he left Bass. He nodded to the sentries as he walked a bit aimlessly around the camp. He walked over to where the hospital had been set up, waving the men down as they rose to greet him. Most of the injuries were treatable, cuts like his that would likely scar, but weren't life threatening. Unfortunately, that meant everyone else was dead. As he walked through the tent, he stopped to check in with those who were awake. There wasn't much he could do for them, but he hoped just being around would help to lift morale. On his way out, he checked in with the head field surgeon to ensure they had enough supplies and men to see to the injured men's needs. They did, which meant there was nothing he could do other than thank the men for their efforts.

Jeremy and a squad of six men were standing in front of a small tent. Miles was pleased to see they'd taken his order to heart. They all straightened at his approach.

"Jeremy, walk with me."

Miles waited while Jeremy gave instructions to the men before he turned and led them to the perimeter. They walked for a few minutes, Miles glad Jeremy wasn't trying to fill the silence. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about their internal issues, but he'd told Bass he'd figure it out and he would.

"We need a way to keep the men loyal to Bass. They need to buy into what we're doing here. There's no America. There probably won't be an America again. The Republic's all we've got."

"Most of them know that, Miles. They're not all stupid."

"After today, that's not enough. We need to know they're loyal and that they'll stay loyal. If something like this happens again Bass will kill me, and I'll let him."

"It won't happen again. The men saw how you handled the situation and after the execution tomorrow, they'll know the penalty."

"We still need a way to identify them, a way for everyone else to identify them. The uniforms aren't enough."

"What, like a secret handshake?"

"If we had the tools, I'd give them all a tattoo."

Jeremy stopped walking and looked up at Miles. "I've got an idea, but I don't think you're going to like it."

Miles' eyebrows shot up as he smirked at Jeremy. A bad idea was better than no idea. "Well, let's have it."

"Since we can't give them a tattoo, we could use a brand."

"Like cattle?"

"A bit crude, but yeah. Give them all a brand. Have them say some sort of oath or something and give them the brand. Make it a rite of passage, a tradition, something they earn. Have it become something they wear with pride."

"Bass isn't going to like it."

Jeremy nodded. "That's why you'll have to convince him it's what we need to do."

"I don't think that will be enough."

Jeremy smiled and Miles didn't know if he liked the implications of the smile. "He'll say yes to you."

Miles shook his head. "He's going to hate this."

Jeremy clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's why you're the one who's going to tell him."

"You're coming with me," Miles said with his own smile as he removed Jeremy's hand from his shoulder. "This was your idea."

They walked back to the command house. Miles wasn't sure he wanted to tell Bass about their branding idea, especially with the execution in the morning, but he didn't know if he could put it off for very long. It's not like there was a good time to tell Bass they were going to use a piece of red-hot iron to brand their men.

"Like a band aid, tell him fast," Jeremy whispered.

"Thanks for your expert advice." Miles rolled his eyes.

Bass was sprawled across a high-winged chair in front of the fireplace in the living room. A mostly empty glass of whiskey dangled precariously in his hand. He hadn't even moved when they'd come in and Miles was glad he'd left a few men standing guard outside, but he was more than a bit concerned about Bass. He shot a look at Jeremy, who looked as concerned as he felt.

"Bass?"

"Hey, guys," Bass slurred. "I'm finding animals in the flames."

Miles looked over at the table; the decanter of whiskey was nearly empty.

"We'll deal with it later, Jeremy. You can go do whatever it is you need to do."

Jeremy nodded. "Sure thing, Miles. See you tomorrow."

Miles walked over and squatted down in front of Bass. There was a drunken smile on his lips, but the same haunted look in his eyes. Clearly, the liquor hadn't had the medicinal affect Bass had been hoping for.

"Come on, buddy. Let's go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow," Miles said as he slung Bass' arm around his shoulder and began to lift him up from the chair.

"Can't go to sleep. Have to kill people in the morning."

Miles closed his eyes as his heart clenched.

"You don't have to kill anyone, Bass."

Bass' bleary eyes worked hard to focus on his face. "I said they had to die. I have to kill them."

There wasn't anything to say to that. If Bass determined that he needed to do this, then Miles would let him, and hopefully he'd be able to put the pieces back together later. He half-dragged half-carried Bass to bed. Bass had quit actively putting together semi-complete sentences and was now just mumbling bits of words from sentences he'd used earlier. Things like, "Gotta kill, can't sleep, can't kill." Miles worked Bass' jacket and boots off, not bothering with the rest before settling him in bed. After stripping down to just his trousers, Miles climbed into bed. Bass immediately burrowed against his side, his words fading into intermittent whimpers. Miles held him close, running his fingers through Bass' hair, trying to be as soothing as possible. He hadn't felt this powerless since the lights went out.  

Miles woke up with the sun, alone. The space next to him was cold. Yesterday's events replayed through his mind like a high-def nightmare. He didn't know which was worse, basically slaughtering his men, or finding a drunken, incoherent Bass. He rose and dressed, splashing cold water on his face to wake him up fully. He found Bass in the living room, standing next to the desk, looking at the empty bottle of whiskey.

"Have Jeremy get them ready."

Miles nodded and left Bass to his thoughts. He didn't know what else to do. Miles brought the prisoners to the front of the formation he'd had Jeremy assemble. Once it was all ready, Bass strode from the house, full uniform, sword shining in the early morning sun. Miles couldn't take his eyes off him. He walked as though he owned the world and nothing could touch him. It was a heady combination, but the look in Bass' eyes was more effective than a bucket of cold water. There was nothing in his gaze.

"These men are responsible for the deaths of 139 men. Your men, your friends. They have caused discord and tried to start a rebellion. The penalty for their foolish actions is death."

Miles watched Bass closely. This was the first time he'd done an execution like this. Bass' face gave nothing away as he reached for his M9. He quickly and efficiently fired four shots. Each man fell to the ground, a bullet in the middle of his forehead.

"If you follow their example, you will share their fate."

Bass looked at Jeremy. "Burn the bodies."

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

"It's ready," Jeremy said.

"That really didn't take as long as I wanted it to," Miles commented.

Bass hadn't been himself since the execution and Miles couldn't figure out how to reach him. He was cold, aloof, spoke only when spoken to and stayed inside most of the time. He was hoping the brand would take longer to make, at least long enough for him to help pull Bass from his mood. They both had a job to do, and disappearing after executing four men didn't exactly help to dispel the rumors running through the ranks.

"Look, let's just get this over with. He's going to hate it. Or worse, he's going to be apathetic about this like he has been about everything recently."

Jeremy gave him a sympathetic look and Miles resisted the urge to hit him for it. Bass was in the living room, looking over the most recent troop movements. Miles didn't like the stoop of his shoulders.

"Bass, we have something we need to discuss with you."

Bass turned to face them. "What?"

"You told me to fix the problem with the men, and Jeremy and I came up with an idea that will work. The men will know what they're signing up for, they will make a commitment to stay with us and we'll also be able to identify them."

Bass looked unconvinced. "How?"

Jeremy handed Miles the branding iron. Miles took a deep breath and held it up to Bass. "With this."

Bass paled and stared at the iron as though it was going to attack him. "You're going to brand them? With my tattoo? This is your idea to _fix_ the problem?"

"We can't give them dog tags and the uniforms aren't working. This way they get the identifying mark and they'll know what they're getting into. They won't let us brand them if they're not with us."

Miles gave Jeremy credit for not stepping back when Bass turned his glare on him. "What about you, Jeremy? You'd let Miles brand you?"

"Bass - "

"No, Miles, it's okay," Jeremy interrupted. "Bass has a point. If I'm not willing to do it, no one else will."

"See, Miles? This isn't a solution."

"No, Bass. It is. I'm the one who gave Miles the idea. You guys found me on the side of the road getting the shit kicked of me. If it weren't for the two of you, I'd be dead. Miles taught me everything I know. You're putting together the only stable thing we have anymore. Taking a brand is the least I can do to repay you."

"You don't have to take the brand, Jeremy. We know you're not going anywhere."

"I do, Bass. Everyone has to do it or it won't work. They can't see me get out of it."

"He's right, Bass," Miles said as he pulled the branding iron from the fire. He'd snuck it in the fire while Jeremy was talking. "We all need the brand."

Miles handed the branding iron to Jeremy and rolled his right sleeve up. He held his arm out to Jeremy. Before Jeremy could bring the iron down, Bass knocked the iron away and it clattered to the floor. Bass was breathing hard, his eyes full of fury as he stared at Miles.

"Get out," he growled.

Jeremy hesitated. Miles appreciated the loyalty, but there was no reason for both of them to die.

Miles nodded and Jeremy backed out of the room.

"You're not getting branded. If you try anything like that again, I'll shoot you myself."

"The men need to see were all in this, Bass. We can't show favorites."

"This isn't showing favorites," Bass spat. "You're the commanding general of the goddamn militia. Your loyalty to me is irrelevant. You speak for me, in the eyes of the men, you and I are the same, and you will never need a brand for that to be true."

Miles couldn't speak at first, he just blinked stupidly at Bass. Miles took a moment to compose himself before he moved in close to Bass. He gently held Bass' face between his hands. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "Okay, Bass. I'm sorry. It was a display for the men, nothing more."

Bass nodded. Miles smiled softly and leaned in for a gentle kiss, thumbs stroking Bass' jaw. He felt Bass' hands land on his hips and pull him closer. Miles angled his head, deepening the kiss as he moved his arms around Bass, holding him. They broke the kiss, eyes still locked together. Miles smiled and gave Bass one lass kiss as he pulled away.

"Jeremy's getting the men ready. We need to do this, Bass. You're right. The men need to know what they're fighting for."

Bass nodded. Miles opened the door and followed Bass outside after retrieving the branding iron from where it had fallen to the floor. Miles put the iron in the fire while Jeremy made some sort of speech, similar to what he'd told Bass earlier. He watched the men's faces, watched when they began to nod, watched for that moment when they understood and accepted what Jeremy was proposing. He pulled the brand from the fire, the 'M' glowing red from the heat. He swallowed thickly, realizing what he was doing was barbaric. Jeremy stood in front of him, face solemn and he gave a curt nod. Miles nodded back.

"Captain," Miles began, "do freely and of your own will swear your loyalty to the militia of the Monroe Republic? Do you swear to devote yourself to the purpose of maintaining order and ensuring the safety of the citizens of the Monroe Republic?"

Jeremy took a breath. "I so swear."

Miles brought the iron down to Jeremy's arm, he heard the flesh sizzle, smelled the flesh burn, watched the pain gather in Jeremy's eyes and hated himself a bit more. He brought the iron away and nodded to Jeremy who stood to his feet, steadier than he had any right to be. Miles followed Jeremy's eyes and saw Bass. His eyes were wide and his skin had an unhealthy greenish tint to it. Miles couldn't leave now. He needed to finish this, but he wanted to walk away and pull Bass back into the house.

Lieutenant Neville came forward. "Sir, I would like to volunteer to receive the brand."

Miles gave a tight smile and nodded. "Lieutenant, do freely and of your own will swear your loyalty to the militia of the Monroe Republic? Do you swear to devote yourself to the purpose of maintaining order and ensuring the safety of the citizens of the Monroe Republic?"

His face had the same solemn, almost worshipful expression Jeremy's did. "I so swear."

Miles had just pressed the iron to Neville's arm when he heard retching noises from behind him. As soon as he was done with the brand, he handed it to Jeremy and dashed off to where Bass was doubled over, puking the contents of his stomach onto the field. He was thankful Bass had been able to get himself to the side of the house, out of sight of the men. At least there would only be speculation. He'd kill anyone who spoke outright about it.

He rubbed Bass' back as he continued to empty the contents of his stomach until there was nothing left but dry heaving. Miles sighed as the scent of burning flesh began to permeate the air around them. He needed to get Bass away from the smell, away from the base. Away from everything that had happened here recently. The idea struck him, and he felt rather stupid for having not figured it out sooner, but better late than never. After a day for recovery, he'd have Jeremy begin preparing the men ready for a move. They needed a new base, one without so many memories.

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Miles looked at himself in the mirror, surprised the house's bathroom mirror was still intact. He looked ridiculous, but this was for Bass, so it was worth it. It'd been a hard couple of weeks, moving the entire militia, establishing a new base camp. It had required a lot of Miles' attention. Attention he needed to give Bass, but couldn’t. Jeremy and Neville were in charge of the men for the night. Miles was becoming more and more impressed with Lieutenant Neville as the days progressed. He'd really proven himself during the branding and the troop move. Tonight wasn't the time for thoughts of the militia, so Miles pushed them from his mind. Tonight was all about Bass, and it was long overdue.

With one last glower at his ridiculous reflection, he went into the living room. Bass was standing in front of the roaring fire, the firelight reflecting off his face. Miles walked up and wrapped his arms around Bass, feeling the soft cotton of his grey shirt under his fingers. He kissed the back of his neck and ran his hands up Bass' torso. He felt Bass settle back against him, his head resting against his shoulder. Bass rolled his head until he could suck Miles' earlobe into his mouth. Miles ran his hands back down Bass' torso and up under the hem, feeling the smoothness of Bass' skin beneath his fingers. When Bass released his ear, Miles turned his head to trail kisses along Bass' neck.

"I've been neglecting you," Miles whispered against Bass' ear.

"It's okay, things have been busy. You've had a lot to do," Bass murmured.

"No," Miles said as he moved away, "that's no excuse. Don't be understanding while I'm trying to apologize. Either forgive me or agree."

Bass turned around a soft smile on his face. Miles felt Bass' eyes blaze a path across his body. He shivered under the weight of it, pleased he'd had Jeremy find the outfit for him.

"I was just going to agree," Bass said as he slowly stepped forward, "but, now that I see what you're wearing, I'm inclined to forgive you."

"The top hat that powerful, huh?" Miles asked, teasing smile on his face.

Bass gripped Miles' lapels and hauled him closer. "I know how you feel in this, and you're wearing it for me anyway. You're forgiven."

Miles leaned in and gave Bass a soft kiss before leaning back to remove the top hat.

"I never said you could remove the hat."

Miles' eyes widened. "Seriously? I have to wear the hat?"

Bass began to undo the buttons on Miles' shirt, kissing each patch of skin revealed. "Mmmhm."

Miles' eyes fluttered closed as Bass' lips closed around his nipple. Bass was cheating, but Jeremy had gone through a lot of trouble to get the hat, and it made Bass do the thing with his tongue that made Miles' toes curl, so he'd wear the fucking hat. Bass' hand trailed down his side and slipped beneath the waist of his trousers, his fingers brushing teasingly against his cock. Miles growled and brought his hand up around Bass' neck, holding him in place while he ravaged Bass' mouth, forcing his tongue past Bass' lips. He rocked his hips forward, giving just enough pressure to drive them both mad. Miles felt Bass' hands move around and follow the hem of the fabric.

"You're wearing tails."

Miles could hear the smile in his voice. "Now I match your décor."

Bass pinched his ass. Miles chuckled as he went back to kissing Bass' neck, wanting to hear the little noises in the back of his throat. He grabbed a fist full of Bass' shirt and broke away long enough to pull it over his head. Miles brought his mouth down on one of Bass' nipples, swirling his tongue around the nub before biting down gently, while his hands worked the buttons on Miles' trousers.

"Bedroom, Miles."

Miles nodded and helped Bass step out of his trousers before taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom. There was a fire blazing in the hearth and he'd lit the wall lamps before he'd put on the penguin suit. He loved how Bass looked in firelight, the warmth of the light dancing across his skin, making his eyes glow. Miles could stare at him all night, but this wasn't for him. He pushed the hat down on his head and backed Bass to the bed. He watched Bass settle himself up near the head of the bed, a fond smile on his lips. Miles loved seeing him like this, relaxed, carefree, and he loved that he was the one to make Bass feel like that.

He peeled the jacket off and draped it over the back of the desk chair, feeling Bass' eyes on him as he finished unbuttoning the shirt. He dropped the shirt to the floor before reaching for the buttons on his trousers. Miles was spread eagled on the bed, hand slowly working his cock. Miles watched Bass stroke himself.

"Jesus," he muttered as he hastily undid the rest of the buttons and slid the trousers down his legs. He toed off his shoes, glad for once, to be wearing the shiny, patented leather monstrosities. They were much easier to remove than his standard boots.

Bass licked his lips. "Damn you look good. Don't lose the hat."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Miles answered distractedly as he moved to the bed, eyes focused on where Bass was still stroking himself.

Miles reached for the jar of oil they kept next to the bed. "I could watch you do this all night."

Bass had a disbelieving look on his face.

"Okay, not all night."

Miles climbed up onto the bed and braced himself, hands on either side of Bass. He could feel the back of Bass' hand brush against his torso as he continued to stroke himself. Miles leaned down and kissed Bass deeply. He coated his finger in the oil and slowly pushed the tip in, savoring the feel of Bass around him.

"Shit, more."

Miles tore his mouth away from Bass' and smirked, but he did as he was told. More because he couldn’t _not_ than because of Bass' needy, if bossy, voice. He pushed his finger all the way in, feeling Bass clench around him. He pulled his finger out and Bass groaned. Miles coated two fingers in lube and slowly pushed both in to the second knuckle. Bass' hand fell from his cock to clench the sheets tightly. Miles leaned forward and kissed Bass' neck, leaving teasing nips as he trailed his teeth down to Bass' nipple. He pushed his fingers all the way in before pulling them out again. He repeated the action, thrusting his fingers deep, stroking Bass' prostate as he continued to push his fingers in and out.

Miles was so hard it was painful. Watching Bass stroke himself, seeing him splayed out on their bed, it was just too much for him. He removed his fingers, smirking when he heard Bass' sound of protest, and covered his cock with the oil. Even the light pressure of his own fingers on his cock was threatening to send him over the edge. He needed to be inside Bass, now. He looked into Bass' eyes as he positioned himself, the head of his cock brushing against Bass' hole.

He gave the tiniest nod and Miles thrust all the way in, both of them groaning at the pleasure of it all. Miles held still, not sure Bass had been as ready as he should have been, afraid he'd hurt him. Bass' hands left the sheets and gripped Miles' shoulders, fingers digging painfully into his flesh.

"Move."

Miles smiled against Bass' neck, rocked his hips teasingly before pulling out and thrusting back in. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, rocking them both against the headboard. He could hear the wood clatter against the wall, and was pleased he had both Jeremy and Tom watching the men tonight. It wasn't a secret, but some things didn't need an audience. Miles felt Bass work a hand between them as he began to stroke himself in rough fast movements. Miles increased the speed of his thrusts, determined to get Bass off first. Bass came with a cry, his hand still working his cock, come covering his hand and both their chests. Miles leaned down and licked Bass' chest, savoring the flavor of Bass' come on his tongue. And with a few more thrusts, emptied himself into Bass. He collapsed on top of Bass, the movement knocking the hat off.

"I told you not to lose the hat."

Miles braced himself up on his arms and looked down a Bass. "If you're thinking about the hat, I didn't fuck you hard enough."

Bass leaned forward and kissed the frown on Miles' face. "I love you."

Miles smiled. "You too."

"You're going to have to find the hat."

"In the morning."

"What if someone steps on it?"

"Then I'll shoot them. No one's going to come in here."

Bass smiled and Miles kissed him softly before getting up from the bed. No one was coming in, which meant he had to put out the lamps. He found the hat next to the bed and with exaggerated movements for Bass' benefit, he placed the hat on the desk. After turning out the lamps, he climbed back in bed, and pulled Bass into his arms.

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Miles and Bass were hunched over the table. Rebels had been attacking their supply lines, making it more and more difficult to bring things from the outlying areas of the growing Republic. They'd begun to resettle people further away from their base of operations, allowing them to run their own little communities, provided they continued to pay their taxes. Based on what they produced, each area had its own form of taxation. Protection had its price, and most people were scared enough in the wake of the violence that permeated the world after the lights went out that even if they balked at taxation they paid with little resistance. Of course, the further out the settlements were, the more difficult it was to enforce, which is why it was important to keep the supply lines intact.

They both looked up when they heard commotion outside the tent. Miles put a hand on Bass' shoulder.

"I'll go see what the problem is."

Bass nodded and went back to looking at the trade routes. Miles strapped on his sword belt as he walked outside. The sentries came to attention and Miles gave them a curt nod as he surveyed the group of men outside the command tent. Lieutenant Neville stood in the center of the group and held a hooded man, while the rest of his unit looked everywhere but at each other or at him.

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir," Lieutenant Neville began, his voice not quite as strong as it should be, "I have some distressing news."

"Let's have it."

"Sir, this is perhaps something we should discuss in a more private location."

Miles nodded slowly. He turned and walked back into the command tent, knowing Neville was following.

Bass looked up when they entered, a curious look on his face.

"Lieutenant Neville has some sensitive information for us," Miles explained as he went to stand next to Bass.

Neville swiftly removed the bag from the bound man. Miles worked to keep his face expressionless. He knew this man. Had known him for years. He crossed his arms and waited for Neville to explain.

"We encountered a small rebel force along the western route, they were attempting to steal taxes we'd collected. This man was with them. It seemed as though he was leading the group."

Miles looked at Bass. His face clearly showed his shock, his pain. They both knew this man. They'd been part of the same unit before the blackout. After they'd setup a semi-permanent operation, he'd come and joined them.

Miles looked at Lieutenant Neville. "Assemble everyone. Parade formation."

Lieutenant Neville didn't question the order. Miles turned to Bass once Neville was out of the tent. Bass was staring out at the distance. Miles knew this wasn't going to be easy. None of this was easy, but it was necessary. Order was necessary in times of chaos.

"The men are assembled, sir," one of the sentries reported.

Miles nodded. He glanced back at Bass who was still staring off into the distance. He wouldn’t make Bass watch. His militia, his rules, his responsibility. Once he was outside, he saw the troops lined up in neat little rows, pleased to see something still made sense. Lieutenant Neville held the prisoner at the front of the formation. From the corner of his eye, Miles saw Jeremy come up, his face grim. They nodded to each other. Miles motioned to Neville who removed the sack from the captive's head. He felt the tremor go through the assembly. This wasn't just some new recruit, some foot soldier. This was one of their captains, a man they looked up to, a man they respected. Miles felt Jeremy's eyes on him, but he ignored it. This wasn't the time to be weak, this wasn't the time for mercy.

Miles walked forward and stopped two paces in front of his friend. They locked gazes for a moment, an entire conversation passing between them.

"On your knees," Miles commanded, voice loud and steady.

His friend nodded, face grim as he fell to his knees. Miles drew his sword, pleased his arm was steady because he felt anything but collected. He held his captain's gaze as he pulled his arm back, tightened his grip and swiftly completed the arc. The cut was clean and deep. The death would be quick and it was the only form of mercy he could afford to show.

"This man is a deserter. He betrayed the Republic by joining with the rebels. The penalty is death. There are no exceptions," Miles voice rang out loudly in the clearing, everyone quiet in the wake of the execution. 

"Lieutenant Neville," Miles called out, turning away from his bleeding friend. "Congratulations, you're now Captain of the Second Infantry. Dismiss the men."

"Sir," Captain Neville managed.

Miles turned back to the command tent only to see Bass standing in the doorway. His eyes weren’t unfocused anymore. They were locked on him. Miles motioned to Jeremy, who relieved the sentries. Miles offered him a tight smile as he walked into the tent. Once he was free of his men's looks, he allowed his shoulders to slump, his eyes to fill with pain. This was Bass and he didn't have to be the fucking General, at least for a few minutes.

"You didn't have to do it," Bass said softly.

"Yeah, I did."

"I mean _you_ didn't have to do it. Jeremy would have, hell, I'm sure Neville would have done it with a smile."

"I had to do it, Bass. You know I did. It's the only way to maintain order. I can't look like a coward in front of my own men. They have to know there are no exceptions to the rules. The punishment for desertion is death. The punishment for betrayal is death."

Bass moved to stand in front of Miles and brought his hand up to reset on Miles' shoulder. "He was your friend."

Miles looked into Bass' eyes, searching for an accusation, and finding nothing but a resignation he didn't like. "Yep, and I killed him."

Miles stepped away from Bass, unable to take comfort from someone who was grieving like him, someone whose pain he'd caused. He moved to the table and poured two large glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Bass and raised his own in salute. It was the closest thing to a goodbye he could muster.

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Miles pushed his horse harder than he should, but he wanted to get back to Pennsylvania. He'd been away for a few weeks, helping the northern border patrol re-secure the lines. He could just make out the edge of the camp, and he smiled. It was good to be home, but he half-expected someone to come running up to him announcing some new emergency. It had sort of become a thing. The past few times he'd gone out on patrol, he'd come back to chaos, or to a small emergency. He made it all the way to the stables and no rider came. He met Jeremy as he walked to Independence Hall.

"Anything I need to know about?" Miles asked.

"Nothing Bass didn't handle."

Miles felt a twist of concern. Maybe it was unfair of him, but Bass wasn't okay with some of the more extreme forms of discipline Miles had enacted over the months. They had recently established their primary base in Philadelphia, the trade routes finally established, most of the borders secure, and things were beginning to return to a state of equilibrium. Getting things to that point required Miles to do things that still make him sick, if he stopped to think about it. He'd lost count of the number of times Bass had given him a disapproving look after he made a command decision, but he'd stuck around. They were family.

"What happened?" Miles asked as he walked into the study, Bass sitting behind the desk looking at troop updates.

"Hi, glad you're back. How was your trip? I'm fine, thanks for asking," Bass grumbled without looking up from the desk.

Miles smiled and rolled his eyes. He walked around behind Bass, wrapped his arms around him and leaned forward to kiss his neck. "Hi, I missed you."

Bass stood from the desk and turned in Miles' arms. "Much better greeting."

Miles smiled and captured Bass' lips in a deep kiss. Bass moaned into the kiss and Miles pulled him closer, loving the feel of having Bass in his arms once again.

"You worried about me," Bass said against Miles' lips.

"You sound surprised. I always worry about you."

"Things are fine."

"That's not what Jeremy told me."

Bass shot a look at Jeremy who shuffled in his place by the door. "I'm going to go and leave you two to catch up and yeah."

"Traitor," Bass accused, smile teasing his lips.

Miles rested his hands on Bass' hips. "You going to tell me what happened?"

"One of the patrol groups caused some trouble in one of the settlements and I took care of it."

Miles cocked his head. "Out with it, Bass."

"Okay, the patrol group went out, and one of the younger guys got rejected by a girl. But he pushed it and her father got involved. The father attacked the guy, defending his daughter, and the young kid killed the father. The whole village nearly broke out into a fight, but Jeremy stepped in and put the kid in handcuffs. He told the girl she could come with them back to the base and get justice, but only if fighting didn't breakout. She agreed."

Miles rubbed his brow. Things like this were happening more and more. Men of the militia feeling as though they were more important, more entitled than they were. It was a problem he planned to fix, but things on the border had pulled him away.

"When they came back and explained it to me, I asked the girl if a life for a life would be enough for her. She agreed and I shot the guy. The rest of the patrol group was sent to the work camp."

Miles nodded slowly. It's exactly what he would have done, if he'd been here. He searched Bass' face, looking for signs of strain, of pain, of regret. There was nothing in his expression that showed distress. Miles smiled and pull Bass into his arms, kissing him deeply.

"Welcome home," Bass whispered as they broke apart.

Miles smiled softly. "I'm going to check on things, then I'm going to come back and give you a proper hello."

Bass smiled. "Hurry."

Miles gave Bass one final kiss before walking outside. He wandered to the stables, ensuring his horse had been tended to properly before going over to the medical tent, pleased to see it was mostly empty. He walked behind the men's tents, watching them mill around the camp. Most of them were smiling, joking, enjoying themselves. It was good to see Bass' actions hadn't upset morale. Maybe it meant they were beginning to understand the regulations he'd put in place. Miles didn't allow himself to think that maybe the men were becoming immune to the extreme violence, the way that he was, the way Bass appeared to be now.

"The general ordered another group be sent out to collect taxes. He won't allow one group to mess up the supplies for the men. He's really upset about some of the shit people are pulling. I don't think any of us will get away with anything, not unless we want our brains blown out or our throats slit."

"Yeah, the general really isn't in a forgiving mood these days."

Miles his smile behind his hand, he was glad to see he was being taken seriously, but he didn't use his gun to execute people, not anymore. Bass preferred using the gun. Realization dawned, and Miles' smile faded. He and Bass had become one person to the men. Miles made his way back to Bass and found him in the bedroom, dressed for bed.

"I overheard the men talking. They keep referring to The General, and I'm pretty sure they mean both of us."

Bass turned to face him, smiling softly. "Of course they do Miles. What did you expect? This is our world."

**~FIN~**

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
